All I Want for Christmas
by lovablegeek
Summary: [PreRENT] Mark is frustrated by Roger's lack of holiday spirit. MarkRoger [One shot]


"Did we know there was no heat in this building when we moved in?"

"Yes, we did," Mark said, glancing over at Roger and unable to hide a smile at the sight of his roommate huddled on the couch, wearing a sweater underneath his leather jacket, and wrapped tightly in a blanket so only his face was really visible, having apparently given up on dignity about the time he started being able to see his breath misting in the air.

"So why'd we move in?"

Mark sat on the coffee table in front of Roger and grinned. He was just as cold, but unlike Roger, he realized that complaining wouldn't much help. "Because it was the only place I can afford. That, and it was the middle of summer, and we figured it would be fine."

"Well, it's not fine," Roger muttered, sinking a little deeper into the blanket he held around him. He had it pulled up over his head, and as he pulled back the edge of the blanket fell forward to cover his eyes. Roger freed one hand and pushed it back with a disgusted look. "I'm getting frostbite here, and... it's not funny!"

"I wasn't laughing," Mark pointed out.

"You were smiling at me." The accusation in his tone made Mark grin as he stood up, shaking his head slightly.

"I'll try to stop doing that." He studied Roger for a moment and then asked lightly, "So, are you just gonna stay inside all day?"

"Did you have something else in mind?"

Mark shrugged, tugging absently on the ends of his scarf – like Roger, he'd resorted to wearing both jacket and scarf inside to avoid freezing completely. "There's ice skating at Bryant Park. We could go, just to, you know, get out of the house."

Roger snorted. "Yeah, because I really want to do when it's this cold is go _outside_, where not only is it cold, but there's also wind and maybe snow. Oh yeah, and then fall on my ass on ice a few times too, just in case I wasn't cold and miserable enough."

"Do you want to go out and see if we can find a Christmas tree somewhere? You know, just a little one..."

"No, I don't, and you know why? Because I'm not twelve years old, I don't still believe in Santa Claus, and oh yeah, we have no presents to go underneath it anyway."

"Okay, Ebenezer Scrooge," Mark muttered under his breath, and rolled his eyes. "Just sit there and freeze then. I'm gonna make some tea."

"You're telling me this why?" Roger let the blanket fall off his head and gave Mark a sardonically questioning look.

Mark didn't bother looking at him as he hunted through the cupboard for a teabag – he _knew_ there had to be some left, somewhere. "Well, I was going to ask if you wanted some, but now I don't think I will."

"Oh, and that's a shame."

Mark found the tea for some reason shoved to the back of the cabinet, and pulled out a teabag and a pot for the water. After a moment, he looked back over his shoulder at Roger. "Is there a reason you're being more of an ass than usual today?"

"I'm cold and miserable?" Roger suggested in a light, half-mocking tone, and burrowed back into the blankets. Mark sighed and turned away.

"Tea would help with that," Mark commented diffidently, no longer looking at Roger as he set the water on the stove.

After a moment, he hopped up onto the counter, glancing around the loft while still managing to not exactly look at Roger, skimming over him like he was part of the furniture or something. His first Christmas _really_ away from home – because college didn't count, with trips back home every winter break, and whenever else his mother could guilt him home – and it seemed odd to not be doing _anything_, no tree, no presents, nothing. And it didn't help that his best friend was mocking him for it.

He'd shifted back around to keep an eye on the water on the stove by the time he heard the rustle of a blanket and the creak of the couch that meant Roger was getting up. Probably going to his room to fiddle with his guitar, or – no, he wouldn't be doing that, it was probably colder in Roger's room even than it was in here, and Mark knew he'd play for about thirty seconds before complaining that his fingers were numb. Whatever he was doing, Mark wasn't paying attention, and Roger had always had the talent of being able to move around the loft almost completely silently when everywhere Mark stepped a floorboard would squeak and give him away. Even more maddening, Roger never seemed to have to _try_ to move silently, it simply... happened.

The counter did creak a little, with sudden weight put on it, and Mark turned around quickly to see Roger seated on the counter just behind him, cross-legged and watching him quietly. Mark frowned at him for a moment, and then commented quietly, "You shouldn't put your feet on the counter, we put _food_ there."

Roger didn't move. "I was kidding, you know. Except about the tea part, because I don't really want tea, but about the rest of it."

"It's just Christmas, Roger. It's not gonna make you any less badass if you actually enjoy the holiday."

"Actually, it does," Roger said, "but that's not the point, you know?"

"So what is the point?" It occurred to Mark how odd it was, the two of them sitting perched on the counter, talking like this, that any normal person would think this strange – that any normal person would be sitting on furniture rather than on the kitchen counter, for instance – but he decided not to mention it.

Roger didn't answer immediately, his expression going momentarily blank before it flickered back to something... not quite cocky, but at least approximating his usual confidence and self-assurance. "I don't know. Maybe I don't have one."

"Roger..." Mark sighed, and gave up, jumping off the counter to take his water off the stove and hunt through the cabinets for a mug to pour it into. This would be easier if they kept their cabinets in any kind of reasonable order, he supposed, but the effort of organizing them just wasn't worth it. Roger would screw it all up again within a week.

He heard the soft sound of feet hitting the floor as Roger jumped off the counter himself, but didn't turn around as he finally located a mug and tossed in a tea bag, pouring the hot water over it. He didn't turn around, but he could still _feel_ that Roger was standing just behind him, not touching him but so close Mark could feel the heat of his body, cold as it was in the loft. He didn't turn around, but every bit of his mind was focused on Roger just then, Roger being so close and Roger about to say something, he _had _to be about to say something, and why did he have to always be such an ass when Mark was just trying to do something fun, do something nice?

"I just... don't see the point of it, you know?" Roger said quietly, and Mark shrugged, pulling a spoon out of the drawer to stir his tea and trying to distract himself by wondering if they had any sugar and no they didn't, they'd run out two days ago so he'd have to go get some later... "Just because it's Christmastime... I don't like to get all excited for it, you know? It's just a day."

Mark turned to look at Roger slowly, tea cupped between his hands. "It's not. It kind of matters to me. Holidays and all. It's just... a reason to do things with people I love. Do things_ for _people I love. You could at least let me. Come ice skating with me, or to get a tree, or let me get you a present for Christmas, you don't even have to get me anything, that's not what it's about–"

"I don't want anything," Roger interrupted, and Mark stopped talking, shot him a slightly pained look and started to step around him to get to the table or somewhere to sit. If he stood here and argued with Roger much longer, his tea was going to get cold. He should have known Roger wouldn't get it. He was sweet and everything, but some things he just didn't understand, and this was one of them. Might as well give up...

Roger caught his arm before he could go more than a step or two, and Mark winced, afraid he'd spill his tea on himself. He didn't, and after reassuring himself he wasn't about to dump a cup full of scalding water on his hand, he glanced up to Roger. "I don't want you to get me anything," Roger repeated softly. "I just... want you."

Mark stared up at him in silence for a moment or two, with an expression he knew was hopelessly bewildered but he couldn't quite manage to compose himself, couldn't get the thoughts to arrange himself in any proper order to convince himself that Roger had really _said_ that to him. "You– you sure? I mean, I just – it's not right if I don't get you _something_, and I really want to, and anyway, _I_ wouldn't fit under a tree–"

"Mark," Roger said softly, his hand on Mark's shoulder. Mark shut up again. "We're not getting a tree, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah."

Roger's hand on Mark's shoulder moved up to Mark's cheek, and Mark froze, barely breathed as Roger leaned down to kiss him, and as Roger's lips touched his, Mark couldn't help but think, distantly, that this would almost be in the Christmas spirit if only he'd thought to hang some mistletoe.


End file.
